


The Pirouette

by akpoptrash1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, discontinued, johnlock au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:19:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akpoptrash1/pseuds/akpoptrash1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ballet dancer training hard. A critic who is not light on his reviews. The two are unlikely to ever get along, unlikely to even have anything in common. Yet...a meeting may change everything. Or nothing at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

"Sherlock! Sherlock, where are you? Don't be an idiot, come on! Mum will kill us!"

"No! I refuse!"

"Sherlock, come on! Don't make me leave you!"

"Go ahead! I'm worthless anyway."

Usually, Mycroft just left his annoying, bratty brother to find his own way home from the park, but he had never heard his brother say he was worthless. Idiot, yes. Worthless, never.

"Sherlock," he sighed, looking under the slide. Though he was smart, Sherlock was never smart enough to change hiding places. "You're not worthless."

"Everyone else thinks so."

"Who cares what they think? They're all idiots."

"But they're right. Ballet is a girl thing. I'm not a girl. Why am I doing it then?"

Mycroft hated having to help his idiot brother, but this time, it was important. He grabbed his brother's hand and practically dragged him home.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were fighting, again, and didn't notice their children sneak upstairs.

Mycroft took a book off the shelf of the Holmes' library and opened it, flipping until he found what he was looking for.

"See? Look at this." 

Sherlock stared at a picture of a man in a fancy black and white costume. He was in the air, possibly in the middle of a leap. His arms were extended in such a way that he looked to be flying.

"That's Vaslav Nijinsky. He was a great male ballet dancer. One of the only ones who could dance en pointe."

"But, only girls dance on their toes," Sherlock said.

"That's what they said to him. But he could do it."

Sherlock stared at the picture. He didn't notice his older brother rip out the page in the book and hand it to him.

"Remember him next time the idiots say anything. Okay?"

From that moment on, Sherlock never doubted anything anyone said about what he did. He ignored the kids who called him names, especially them.

One kid called him gay for being in ballet. He promptly turned to him and said, "So what if I am?" That shut them up for a while, until they found something new to call him.

His ballet teacher was the most helpful. She pushed him to dance as hard as he could. She told him that if he didn't like what he was doing, then he should stop. But Sherlock loved every second he danced.

She was also the reason he was able to dance en pointe. Just like Vaslav Nijinsky.


	2. Don Quixote

Sherlock raised his arm with a flourish. The music began and he was off. He leapt high and strong. He spun fast, stopping without feeling dizzy. He was on a high, and he loved it.

The song ended and the applause seemed deafening. He bowed, smiling. The lights were hot and his clothes were itchy but he didn't feel it. This was opening night of Don Quixote, and he already felt like it was something he had been doing for ages.

Sherlock had joined the Birmingham Royal Ballet over a year ago, and this was his first major role in a ballet. He loved the rush he got when he jumped, much like Vaslav Nijinsky. 

This was also the night Mycroft was able to come and watch him dance. He had been so busy with his new position in the government-a position he would share nothing about-that he was only free occasionally.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were busy with their separate lives. They had divorced years ago, and Sherlock always told himself that he didn't want any of them at his performances. He didn't want to be reminded of what should have been. It was so convincing, he almost believed himself.

His partner onstage, Kaitlyn Marc, was phenomenal. She could spin just a bit longer then he could en pointe. They tested it often, so much that people would place bets on who would win. It was a fun competition.

The music swelled and Sherlock lifted Kaitlyn into the air, and they were still. The audience roared with approval as he lowered her back to the ground, and they began again.

Don Quixote about to end, and there was just one more solo for Sherlock.

The choreographer had decided that for this part, he would dance en pointe. It was very risky for opening night, and no one was sure how the audience would take it, especially since this was the night the critics would be judging the most.

He walked out, and there were whispers in the crowd. It would be a first in the Birmingham Royal Ballet that a man danced en pointe, but there he went.

The audience actually gave Sherlock a standing ovation when he finished. He was amazed. This was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The performance was over, and Kaitlyn hugged him tightly. 

"You did it!" she squealed, her french accent still lingering despite living in England for ten years. "You did it, and it was amazing!"

"What about you? You blew them away." 

"You were both amazing," Felicity Morris said, annoyed but smiling. "You do this every time you perform, and it's rather stupid. Just go get changed for the after-party."

"Oh, I think Felicity's jealous," Kaitlyn teased. 

"Yes, I'm jealous that you two get to go straight to the after-party while I clean up all the flowers people think are a good idea to throw. Now go!"

Sherlock laughed and dragged Kaitlyn to her dressing room. He usually kept to himself, but these two were the reason he loved being in the company.

His costume was neatly hung up and switched for a deep purple button down and black pants. Makeup was always a hassle to get off, considering the dressing rooms had no sinks, and the bathrooms were always packed.

There was a knock at the door, and Mycroft walked in, an umbrella on his arm.

"Well, that was just a bit better than I expected," he announced. Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued trying to get his makeup off. "Does it feel nice to dance under lights that can easily replace the sun?"

"Yes, actually. It's not like we get any otherwise."

The brothers, though close, never went beyond shaking hands. It just felt too awkward. 

"Are you coming to the after-party?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm afraid not. I have lots of work to do."

"So the government won't let the queen take a day off?"

Mycroft gave a sarcastic smile, and pulled out an envelope. "Our mother wanted me to give this to you."

Sherlock froze for a split second. He ignored the extended letter, finishing cleaning up the counter.

"Sherlock," he sighed, placing the letter on the counter. "Our mother would like you to stop ignoring her."

He said nothing, picking up his coat and scarf. "I'm glad you could come tonight, Mycroft. You are welcome to come anytime you are free."

He seemed to realize the discussion wouldn't continue, and nodded. The shook hands and left.

Felicity was leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed. She looked a bit annoyed, though when was she not?

"I can't believe that I stayed on stage longer picking up flowers, changed out of my costume, washed off my makeup, redid my hair and put on fresh makeup, and I still finished before you."

"Getting ready is an art you just haven't perfected," he replied.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Felicity pulled her phone out of her pocket, looked at the caller ID in confusion, and answered.

"Hello?" Her eyes went wide. "What? Where? Okay, hurry."

She dashed outside and hailed down a cab. "Quick, get in."

Sherlock watched in confusion as she stood outside with the door wide open while he sat inside the cab.

"Miss," the cabbie said, trying to get her attention. She held up a finger and he sighed.

Suddenly, Kaitlyn burst out from the building. She was running as fast as she could, no easy feet in heels. She slid into the cab and Felicity followed.

"117 New Canal Street," Sherlock said, sensing danger. The cabbie drove off right away. "What was that?"

"My ex decided to come and watch tonight," Kaitlyn explained, trying to catch her breath. "He was waiting backstage, and I had to sneak past him. I ran as fast as I could so he wouldn't see me."

"What a creep," Felicity muttered. "Oh! I forgot to tell you! My brother by marriage is going to be at the after-party. My sister, Clara? She married a girl named Harriet. She has a brother, who happens to be a very tough critic. They divorced, but I still remain in touch with him."

"Okay, nice story," Sherlock said. "Who is he?"

"John Watson."


End file.
